


Dissenter

by Nalyd



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Did I mention there are dragons, Dragons, Gen, Shamanism, Tarkir, Temur - Freeform, Time traveling can really mess you up, You might be exited but Arel isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyd/pseuds/Nalyd
Summary: In the Khans of Tarkir timeline, Arel is a Temur shaman, tasked with assisting the clan with her magic. Arel is motivated mostly out of respect and admiration for her mentor, Chianul, Who Whispers Twice. But, one day, Chianul reveals that he must undertake a suicidal mission for the sake of the clan. How will Arel react to her only friend throwing his life away?





	Dissenter

**Author's Note:**

> “Dissenter” is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

Arel flinched as the invocation tugged at her mind. She set her bowl of soup on the cold floor and sat against the little cave’s wall. Taking a deep breath, she entered the trance.

_ The Wide Whisper. Not a place, but a feeling. The feeling of interconnectivity. Arel could not see the other shamans, but she could sense them. It seemed as though they were all huddled together in a dark room. _

_ “My brothers and sisters.” The voice came from everywhere at once but, at the same time, from nowhere. Arel recognized the speaker instantly: Chianul, Who Whispers Twice. Her fifty year-old teacher was the advisor of the Temur Khan, Surrak Dragonclaw. “I have called you to relay some crucial information,” he continued. Arel could sense the other shamans’ tension. _

_ “As I meditated, I discovered a weak point,” Chianul announced. _

_ “A weak point, Brother?” Sakta, a younger shaman, asked. _

_ “Yes. A weak point in multiple nows.” _

_ Several voices rose at once to express concern. _

_ “Quiet, please. I shall explain,” Chianul murmured. Silence fell over the link. _

_ “Many nows are coming closer together,” he stated, “to the point where our now may be in danger of shifting. We have all seen glimpses of other realities: nows where the Temur are no longer at war with other clans, but also nows where the Temur… no longer exist. The nows that risk shifting our world whisper of a Tarkir where the dragons of old never fell, but instead rose to power and conquered everything. Even our clan. I have seen our people decimated, subjected to the will of the heartless beasts.” _

_ Arel felt the uneasiness rise as the shamans hung from Chianul’s every word. _

_ “A dangerous moment is approaching. However, the solution has been revealed to me. Vol has returned to Tarkir, and he-” a cacophony of gasps and overlapping sentences interrupted the old man. _

_ “How is that possible?” one of the shamans shouted. _

_ “Didn't he die?” another one asked. _

_ “Who's that?” a third one, younger than the first, wondered. _

_ “ _ _ Vol _ _ ,” Chianul repeated, hushing the others, “is the key to healing the nows. Fortunately, the weak point has been revealed to me: it is at the Spirit Dragon’s domain.” _

_ “Twice-Whisperer, what are you suggesting?” a particularly bold shaman asked. _

_ “My vision was crystal clear: we must conduct a whisper ritual with Vol. The harsh winter isn't over yet, but I ask that any and all of you who can get there do so. We will meet at its entrance in a few days. Make haste.” _

_ Before Arel could say anything, the Whisper ended. _

The young woman slowly opened her amber eyes, giving them time to adjust to the light.

She let her gaze wander across the cave; it had just enough space to house a few extra people. The entrance was only wide enough for two people, but it was much taller than Arel. The warm light of sunrise crept in from it, irradiating the otherwise dim room with a few distinct rays that caressed its cold surface. A few panels of stone that had been fashioned into shelves protruded from the walls; a variety of trinkets, hides and utensils rested upon them. Next to Arel, opposite the cave’s exit, lay a makeshift cot comprised mostly of animal fur.

Being the den of a Temur shaman, there was one more essential detail: scores of drawings and runes covered the walls, illustrating key moments in Arel’s life and her visions. As she gulped down the rest of her soup, she let her eyes linger on her earliest work; it was quite different from the rest, as she'd drawn it before she became a shaman. 

///

_ A vision. She was inside the same cave, years earlier. The rocky pavement was covered in hide, and the walls were clean. Towards the back of it, a little girl sat quietly on the floor, facing the wall. A man sat nearby, a large, rectangular section of cloth on his outstretched legs. He was bald, clean shaven, skinny and wearing fur pants and a mantle. His brown eyes spoke of nights spent lying awake, but his movements were precise, if interrupted by the occasional cough. Next to him were a few small bowls filled with pastes of different colors. He dipped his fingers in one of them and traced them across the cloth in a curve. Then he checked his handiwork; the Temur banner to-be was coming along nicely. _

_ The sound of heavy footsteps came from just outside the cave, and a woman appeared at its entrance. She was tall and muscular, with long black hair, a prominent nose, amber eyes and dark skin protected by fur clothing. She was carrying several layers of hide in one hand and was holding the hand of a little kid in the other one. _

_ “Tanaja, Sangye!” the man called as he set the cloth aside and got up to meet thems. _

_ “We’re back!” she called with a hearty, almost sing-song laugh. The man leapt at Tanaja and the two embraced. _

_ “How was the hunt, dear?” he asked, gently freeing himself from her powerful clutches. _

_ Tanaya effortlessly cracked her knuckles. “Not bad, Aigrec,” she replied with a grin. _

_ Someone tugged at Aigrec’s fur pants. He looked down to see Sangye, his younger child, staring back at him with big brown eyes. _

_ “Hey, buddy! How was your morning with your friends?” Aigrec asked, crouching and ruffling the kid’s hair. _

_ “Mmmh, it was ok…” Sangye answered distractedly, tilting his head. “Papa, can I paint too?” he added, looking back up at his parents.  _

_ Tanaja crouched down as well: “Sweetie, Papa needs the paint to make lots and lots of banners for the clan, but…” she glanced at Aigrec. _

_ “I will leave you a little bit of paint to use outside when I’m done, how’s that?” he asked. _

_ “But Papa!” Sangye whined, clenching his fists, “I want to paint inside like Arel!” _

_ Aigrec stared at his son, puzzled: “Arel doesn’t-” _

_“Arel!” Tanaja shouted, standing up. “What are you_ doing _,_ _you little goblin?”_

_ Everyone turned to Arel, who was holding a bowl in her left hand and frantically tracing her right hand across the wall, painting a stylized figure. _

_ Tanaja strode over to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Arel? What-” _

_ “Look, Mama! I’m painting like a shaman!” the girl giggled, setting down the bowl and admiring her handiwork. _

_ Tanaja looked at the painting: it depicted a human wearing a lot of fur, with two antlers attached to their head and a few trinkets dangling from their hood, in front of their face. Her eyes widened.  _ Whisperer _ , she mouthed. _

_ Aigrec had walked over as well, lightly holding Sangye’s hand in his left and coughing into his right. “Arel, please don’t use those again without asking, ok, little doe?” _

_ The artist’s expression turned droopy. “Sorry, Papa.” _

_ “It’s alright,” he said, patting her on the head. He turned to the wall. “Now, can you tell us who this is?” _

_ Arel puffed out her chest and planted her fists on her hips in a moment of pride, like her mother often did. “It’s me!” _

_ Tanaja looked at her daughter, overflowing with love the way only a parent can. “But Arel, dear, you don’t have horns.” _

_ Arel seemed to deflate a little. “I know, but, but… I saw myself like that! And when shamans see stuff they paint it, right?” she tried. _

_ “You mean, when you were dreaming tonight?” Aigrec tried. _

_ “No, Papa, right now! I was high up in the mountains and there was ice everywhere and there were tall trees and I was dressed like this! I saw it, I saw it!” Arel chortled. _

_ “I wanna see too, Papa!” Sangye interjected. _

_ Tanaja looked at Aigrec. “I’ll get Chianul.” Aigrec sitfled a cough, nodded, and Tanaja sprinted out of the cave. _

///

The stylized woman smiled back at Arel, her posture curved by the weight of the antlers that rested upon her head. That was the day she’d embarked on the journey to become a shaman.

Arel set down her empty bowl and stood up before donning a large headpiece, the symbol of her craft. Large antlers were affixed to the back, and her face was hidden by a dozen trinkets hanging from the front.

She took in a slow, deep breath. Chianul said he’d rendezvous with other shamans in a few days. That meant departing immediately, but the life-threatening winter season was still ongoing. She had to find him, ask him to reconsider. It didn’t matter whether it’d be due to cold, wildlife, or enemy forces. She couldn’t bear the thought of Chianul disappearing like Aigrec, Sangye and Tanaja had, in the winter’s frigid embrace.

Arel made her way towards the cave’s opening and exited into the chilly morning. Positioned near the very entrance of Karakyk Valley, Arel’s abode offered a breathtaking view of the entire encampment. She paused, taking in the fresh air and the beauty of the Temur’s permanent winter residence; the Valley looked as though a large section of the mountain’s side had been scooped away by a fussy god, resulting in a vast, circular glacier-carved valley facing away from the winter winds and with a massive overhanging lip that protected the clan from snowfall.

Arel made her way towards a cave positioned near the center, where Chianul resided. It was early in the morning, yet there were already groups of people sitting around fires, having breakfast communally, the way the Temur did. Well, those of the Temur who weren’t shamans. Arel walked in a straight line, ignoring them.

The cave Chianul slept in was fairly large, but it was quite modest compared to that of First Father Surrak, right beside it. The entrance to the khan’s abode stood taller than two grown men and was wide enough to let a dozen people in at a time. As for the inside, Arel could only guess, as many large hides hung from the arc, blocking it from view.

The entrance to Chianul’s abode, on the other hand, was a lot narrower and a bit shorter, and had many trinkets dangling in front of it instead of hides.

Arel arrived at the cave just as Chianul exited it. The shamans paused a few feet away from each other. Arel observed him carefully. He was the oldest man she’d ever met. Fifty years old was an exceptional age, for a Temur. She knew it wasn’t unusual for people of other clans to live far beyond that age, but that hardly mattered: they wouldn’t have survived half of those years had they been exposed to the same hardships the Temur faced.

Chianul’s posture was hunched over by the weight of the talismans he'd carried over the years. His expression was fully obscured by them, but Arel knew that hidden behind the trinkets was the hardened face of a man wise beyond his years, with two bright blue eyes, short dark hair and a grizzled stubble.

The man seemed to ponder his words. She offered none.

“Arel,” he finally spoke, a delicate tone in his deep voice, “I trust you slept well?” 

“Marvelously,” she exaggerated. “You know why I'm here, Twice-Whisperer Chianul.”

He sighed. “Yes, thank you, how about you?” he intoned in a high-pitched voice.

Arel’s eyes narrowed. Chianul’s unusual reluctance to go straight to the point spoke a lot about his intentions.

Chianul straightened himself up. “Arel, you're not going. The journey is too long from Karakyk Valley, it's too risky,” he told her.

“Oh, I know I'm not,” she replied. She paused, giving him a brief moment to find the catch. Crossing her arms, she sternly added: “And neither are you.”

Arel imagined Chianul’s eyes briefly widening in surprise before returning to their regular, semi-closed state.

“I must. I have to find Sarkhan and lead the ritual,” he said.

“I'm sorry, I thought you said it was too risky,” she replied coolly.

“My presence is essential, Arel. Yours isn't. And I'm more likely to survive than you are,” he reminded her.

She snorted. “So a one in a million chance instead of zero?”

“There is a chance, therefore I must go. It is my duty,” he concluded, walking towards the center of the valley.

Arel stepped in front of him and he stopped. He was taller than her, despite his posture.

“I'm not going to let you go off and die,” she growled, gritting her teeth.

Chianul gazed down at her. “You don't get to decide what I do,” he mumbled.

Arel looked up. “Chianul,  _ please.  _ The winter season is almost over… can't you wait a few days? I'm begging you!”

“Time is of the essence. The weak point is spreading, and if we do not react immediately it could lead to serious overlap between the nows. And that's the last thing we want to happen.”

“The last thing I want to happen is for you to die!” she shouted. Several heads turned in their direction.

“Arel, this isn’t-”

“Shamans!” a voice boomed a few feet away.

Arel turned to find herself staring at none other than the Surrak Dragonclaw himself. He was an intimidating man, the proof of past battles etched into his weathered skin, of towering height such that most were at the eye level of the face of his bearskin cape. His long black hair rested on his wide shoulders, and his powerful arms were crossed, the bear paws strapped to his wrists amplifying his disdain.

“What is going on here?” the khan demanded.

Chianul took a tentative step forward. “Dragonclaw,” he began, “we were just-”

“My khan!” Arel interjected, putting herself between the two. “The Twice-Whisperer intends to take off on his own with the winter season still ongoing! He would surely die!”

The khan eyed the shamans sternly. After a moment of silence, Chianul cleared his throat and said, “Surrak, I…”

“Chianul will go absolutely  _ nowhere _ without my permission. Understood?” Surrak asked, rhetorically.

The elder shaman gave a short nod. “Perfectly,” he replied, his tone of voice flat.

Arel puffed up her chest in pride, her arms fists on her hips. “Absolutely, my khan,” she answered, doing little to hide her satisfaction.

The First Father lifted his chin, peering at the two. “Excellent. Now, Shaman Arel, me and the Twice Whisperer have some important business to discuss. You are dismissed.”

Arel nodded and moved out of the way. She watched the two men engage in hushed conversation as they walked towards the Dragonclaw’s cave, before disappearing behind the heavy hides. She stared for a few more moments, then turned and began to walk back towards her cave.

Again she waded through the Temur families. This time many adults regarded her in curious silence, a silence made even more deafening by the occasional child’s laugh or squeal. Arel wanted to run, run away from all of them forever. She forced herself to keep marching as she ignored her surroundings.

A man erupted in raucous laughter several feet behind her.

Arel clenched her fists. The air around them warmed up instantly as they turned red. Still, she walked.

Another laugh, this time a woman’s voice, came from a small group to her left. 

Arel took a deep breath and stopped, her eyes closed. For a few moments, the crackling of fire and the low buzz of friendly chatter were the only intruders in her peaceful world.

Then someone’s hand fell on her shoulder.

Startled, she pivoted around, her searing hands half-raised in a protective stance.

The young man in front of her jolted back, arms raised. His blue eyes nervously jumped back and forth between Arel’s hands and the trinkets shadowing her face.

Recognizing him, Arel lowered her arms and extinguished the spell. She gazed at him for a few moments, then muttered: “Tseten. I see you're going for shorter hair, now.” The two had known each other since childhood, as their families were in the same traveling group, but had lost touch with one another ever since Arel left to become a shaman.

Or, more specifically, ever since her family had succumbed to the merciless winter.

The short, tan man gulped. “A- Arel.”

The shaman regarded him coolly: “What is it?” she asked, ignoring the silent onlookers.

“I just, uh, saw you, you know…” he let his words trail off.

“Screaming?” she offered.

“I was just... wondering if you were alright,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

“Why?”

“I… what?”

Arel sharply exhaled from her nostrils, in what was her version of a sarcastic laugh. “Why do you care, Tseten?” she repeated.

Tseten’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he were gasping for air. In the span of moments, several emotions crossed over his face.

_ Amusing _ , Arel thought.

Undeterred, the young man tried again, this time with an even more awkward smile: “Well, you know, we’re one big family, right? We care about each-”

The words died in his throat as Arel’s right hand suddenly tightened around his neck.

“You are not my family, Tseten,” Arel whispered, leaning in. “The only family I ever had was left to die,” she reminded him.

“B- but…”

“Shut up!” she yelled, keeping a firm grip on him. “Do you have  _ any _ idea what it feels like? Do you?!”

Arel let go, causing Tseten to fall backwards onto the floor. He looked up at her, terrified.

“Because what _I_ know is that I was taken away for years, from my home and from my family, to become a stupid shaman! And what happens while I’m gone? Turns out my parents were left to _die_ in a cave, and you couldn’t even stop my little brother from running back to them! Does that sound like what a _family_ would do? Does it?!” she shouted.

Tseten breathed heavily. He looked around for help from the onlookers, but no one moved. “We- we left them with supplies, and, and, they were supposed to only stop for a day or two… your father’s condition had gotten worse, he would’ve slowed us d-”

“You think you’re the first one to tell me that? You think that’s a valid excuse?!” Arel interrupted him.

“I-”

“No, you know what? Don’t even answer that question,” she spat. “Your “family” let a sick man and his wife behind so you could gain a little extra time. You _ knew _ there was no way that Tanaja would’ve managed to bring Aigrec here alone, but that didn’t stop you from lying to yourselves! And you let an eight year old die as well! A  _ little kid _ ! What is wrong with you?!”

“We didn’t expect Sangye to sneak a-” Tseten tried.

“You _ really _ thought he was just going to let his parents die like that? Even an eight year old saw through your lies!”

“I- I was just a little kid at the time!” he said, panting.

The shaman paused, lifting her chin in defiance. She let the entirety of the scene sink in. Tseten on the floor, scared senseless. Dozens, possibly a hundred or so, of quiet onlookers, human, ainok, and a few orcs, who had gotten close enough to witness the scene but far enough to have a running start, just in case. She gazed intently at them: most of them appeared cautious, yet intrigued. Some were afraid. Others seemed ready to step in should things degenerate.

None of them appeared to have a single ounce of compassion.

Not that she expected anyone to, after all those years.

“Yes. Back then, you were,” she finally said, breaking the silence. She looked down at him. “So why do you still act like one now?”

Tseten eyes widened: “But-”

“When something bad happens to a member of the family,” Arel recited in a monotone voice, “the others will be there for them. Is that not what we were all taught when we were little?” she asked.

Again, Tseten’s imitation of a fish out of water was striking.

“Well then. Where were you, after it happened?” she pressed. She lifted her head to look at all the Temur gathered around them. “Where were  _ all  _ of you, when I came back?”

Silence. Of course.

“Chianul told me me they’d died while I was still in training,” she said. “When I finally returned, I was excited. I wanted to see some of my friends again, I wanted to see familiar faces around me. But what did I find? Nothing!” she yelled. The words poured out of her throat faster than she could realize what she was saying. “Because shamans are different, right? We don’t have emotions or anything like that! Who cares if the girl’s parents and brother died, shamans live on their own all year anyways!”

“Arel, I- I didn’t… I’m sorry that-”

“You’re  _ sorry _ ?” she cut him off. “Do you know how many times I’ve called upon the spirits of my family just to hear a friendly voice, the voice of someone who didn’t view me as a dangerous outcast?!” she yelled, tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s the only thing I am to you all, anyways! I’m a tool, a tool for the Temur to exploit as they see fit in this endless battle for clan supremacy!”

Arel stopped, breathing heavily. She could barely believe herself. All those feelings she’d hopelessly tried to suffocate for years, attempting to deny them to even herself, had now been laid out bare for everyone to see. She shook, fervently fighting back tears.

“What is going on here?” a deep female voice asked.

Arel lifted her head to see the Hunt Caller, Nitula, make her way through the crowd, stopping in front of the two childhood friends.

Nitula was bulkier than she was tall, but even then Arel was stood a little below her. Her beady eyes were rivaled in darkness only by her long, raven hair. Her fame, together with her precise movements and impressive muscles, made her quite intimidating.

“Shaman, what is the meaning of this?” Nitula demanded sternly.

Arel’s eyes narrowed. She’d had enough of this. “Nothing, Hunt Caller. I will be taking my leave now,” she replied.

She turned and marched back to her cave. The men and women standing in front of her fell over themselves getting out of the way. She ignored them and didn’t look back until she reached the entrance. By that time, only Tseten and Nitula were still in place, one on the floor and the other with a hand on her hip, looking at her. Everyone else had scattered.

///

The night sky began to fade as dawn fast approached. Everything in Karakyk Valley lay still, except for the shimmering aurora: the colored streaks of light continued their dance, refusing to abandon the sky. A little off its entrance, among the trees that spotted the mountain’s side, a cloaked figure marched, leaving the Temur stronghold behind.

Chianul walked, curved over as usual, his padded boots gliding on the snow beneath him. The air was chilly, but he felt no cold. His trinkets silently dangled in front of him as he marched.

He looked back once more at the Valley. He hated betraying Arel’s trust, but he had no choice. If he failed his mission, terrible things would befall the Temur. He had to try.

Suddenly, he stopped. A few moments of complete stillness went by. Then, with a sigh, he spoke: “I see you do not trust me as much I thought.”

A few more seconds, and Arel emerged from the near darkness in front of him. “Oh, I do trust you,” she said with a tight smile, “but I also know you very well.”

“My duty as the One who Whispers Twice-” he began.

“I know, I know,” Arel replied softly. “But I cannot allow you to die like this. You are the only family I have left.”

“I heard about your... discussion with Tseten yesterday,” he replied.

“What about it?”

Chianul sighed. “Arel, we shamans aren’t being used as tools by the Temur, we are a part of them. We have a different role, true, but that doesn’t mean-”

“I’ve never been treated as a part of them. I’m just returning the favor,” she whispered.

The man sighed. His student was an exceptional case. Shamans usually had their immediate family to balance out their sudden change of status, and then slowly transitioned to becoming more solitary in their later years. On the other hand, when a Temur child became orphaned, another family would usually adopt it. Neither of these had come to fruition in her case.

“Forgive me, but my duty is to the clan,” he stated. The words pained them both.

“You’ve made your choice,” she murmured, assuming a combat stance, her arms collected in front of her in preparation, “and I’ve made mine. I’m not letting you go anywhere until winter is over.”

Chianul slowly straightened himself, mimicking her stance. “I will do my best to prevent serious harm to befall you, student,” he said coolly.

Arel grinned: “I will do much the same, _ master _ .”

The two stood still, eyeing each other. For a moment, everything paused. Nature itself seemed to fall silent, anticipating the fight. 

The sound of a drop of water would’ve been deafening.

Then Arel pounced. She reached Chianul and struck with her right hand, aiming for his neck.

Chianul ducked and punched towards her stomach.

She spiraled away from his fist, feeling the air move right beside her, and kicked towards his face.

He fell backwards, dodging the blow, and kicked her grounded leg.

The kick connected and Arel grunted as she lost her balance and fell into a sloppy roll, the frigid snow sending shivers down her spine.

Chianul was upon her as soon as she got on her feet, striking at the base of her neck.

Arel barely batted his lightning-fast attack to the side with her forearm, then jumped back to avoid a second punch.

Again, he gave her no time to recover. Arel cursed as she nearly dodged two more of her teacher’s attacks.

Third time was the charm, though.

The impact took the wind out of her as Chianul’s leg connected with her side.

Grinding her teeth, Arel let herself fall with her back to the icy floor.

As he rushed in to deliver the next blow, she pivoted and desperately kicked his legs aside.

The man fell next to her, his hand passing right by Arel’s neck. She felt the cold air on her cheeks.

Arel hurriedly scampered up and away from him through the snow, preparing for his next attack.

As Chianul got up, she took a moment to assess the situation.

Her main takeaway was that she was in trouble.

The two shamans stared at each other, evaluating their next move. Chianul was much faster than she remembered. He was old, but his age didn’t seem to impede him in any way.  _ There goes my advantage,  _ she moaned. She’d thought her youth would’ve helped her outpace the old man, but such was not the case.  She peered at Chianul. His shielded face betrayed no emotion. It was impossible to estimate the amount of time he would’ve been able to keep fighting; outlasting him was also not an option.

On the other hand, he had experience. A lot of experience.

Arel frowned. She had no natural advantage, it seemed. The only way to win was to create one, somehow.

As the two circled around each other in the snow, an idea flared into her mind. She had to up the stakes, hoping Chianul wouldn’t follow.

As she focused her energy, she hoped she was making the right choice. After all, if he beat her and left, he’d die no matter what. There was no lowering his chances of survival. It didn’t matter if he was injured or not. Arel  _ had _ to win: anything but his death was a viable option.

“I’m not letting you die that easily,” she breathed as a hot, red light encompassed her hands, extending beyond her fingers and turning into fiery claws. The snow around her began to melt.

Arel lunged before he could react, striking at his sides.

Chianul leapt back and she clawed the air, but she pressed forward.

He dodged a series of her attacks, but seemed reluctant to counterattack. If he made a single misstep, her ardent claws would’ve found their target.

Arel kept attacking, striking over and over again, forcing him to retreat into heavier snow. She grinned as she nearly hit him. Fire was indeed a powerful tool.

As the two danced knee-feet in snow, her strike finally grazed its target.

Chianul grunted as she raked her fiery claw across his chest, recoiling from the burn.

Arel grinned again. She could win this.

As she moved in to strike again, he suddenly leapt to the floor and rolled, ending up a few feet behind her.

_ No! _ she thought, pivoting towards him after her failed attack.

Chianul faced her, his arms outstretched towards the ground in front of her, his palms glowing with blue swirls of energy.

Before Arel could pounce, she felt a sudden chill grip her legs. She looked down to see the snow rapidly coalescing into ice and covering her.

Realization dawned on her: he’d lured her into the heavier snow so he could trap her with ease.

Arel tried to repel the ice with her magic, but Chianul had too strong a grip on it. And once she was fully immobilized, he’d move in to knock her out.

As she tried to slow down the ice, sweat droplets began to form on her forehead; she wouldn’t be able to deal with him once the ice took place. She had to stop it.

Or stop _ him _ .

There was no time to think, the ice was taking hold of her body. Arel let go and focused on the heat radiating from her hands, channeling her energy into it.

The red light separated from her hands, gaining enough heat and volume to coalesce into large claws made out of near-magmatic material. Steam began to rise from the ice all around her.

As the ice took hold of her upper body, Arel yelled in defiance and threw her arms forward.

The blazing claws lunged at her teacher, leaving a trail of black smoke behind them. Chianul jumped back, startled by the sudden attack, and the blue energy left his palms.

_ Yes _ ! Arel thought as she felt the ice stop abruptly at her upper torso.

Then he moved his hands in a circle, and pain streaked through her mind. The claws seemed to slow in their flight towards him.

Arel grunted in pain: he was trying to take over the spell!

She increased her focus, visualizing the claws hitting her teacher squarely in the chest, but the searing ache in her head made it harder and harder to concentrate.

Chianul stood motionless, his hands outstretched in a spiral towards the claws.

Arel breathed heavily, irregularly, as her body twitched. The veins in her hands and head bulged as the pain steadily increased. Never before had she fought for control of her own spell.

The effort became too much to bear. Arel screamed in desperation. 

Then lost her grip.

The claws darted at Chianul, but veered to the side just before smashing into him.

To Arel’s horror, they circled back at her.

She saw the torrent of fire lunge at her and instinctively raised a wall of solid ice.

The wall turned a bright shade of pink, and hot.

Two bright streaks of red burst through it, shattering her defenses.

The stream of fire crashed into her, annihilating the ice in its path.

There was a bright flash of red and a twinge of maddening pain.

Then everything went dark.

///

Arel awoke with a start. She was in a dim cave, laying on something warm and soft.

She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. With a whimper, she lay back down, her body screaming in protest.

“How are you feeling?” a deep, rumbling voice asked.

She turned her head to the side to see Surrak sitting cross-legged on a bear skin a few feet away. Looking around, Arel recognized her cave, albeit with a few improvements.

“Dragonclaw… what…?” she tried to ask.

“We found you at the valley’s entrance,” he explained. “You had some serious burns on you, but it appears Chianul healed you, somewhat.”

“Oh,” she mouthed. Arel tried to remember what had happened. She’d tried to stop Chianul from leaving, and then…

“Is he…” she started.

“He left,” was the dry answer.

Arel licked her lips. “Of course,” she sighed, briefly clenching her fist.

Then she remembered the conversation they’d had. Surrak was known to be merciless to those who betrayed him. He wouldn’t have…?

“My khan,” she mumbled, “please forgive the One who Whispers Twice from disobeying you, he-”

“He did not disobey me,” he sentenced.

Arel searched his expressionless face for an explanation, but found none. “What?” she finally asked. “But you said-”

“I said he’d go nowhere  _ without  _ my permission,” Surrak reminded her.

Arel’s mouth hung agape for a few moments as she processed the information.

As she understood, her expression turned to disbelief, then anger, then again the same two as she made a new attempt to sit up and failed. Impotent, she clenched her fists and ground her teeth. “You  _ let him _ ?” she shrieked.

Surrak nodded.

Arel’s nails dug into her palms. “You… let him go off and die… how, how could you, he-” she stuttered as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you want to know why I let him go, Arel?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Chianul is a grown man. He may be old, but he is wise and powerful. He is the One who Whispers Twice, a title that commands respect and trust. But more than that, he is a Temur, a member of our family. And he has been my friend for many years. Not to mention he's technically my elder. I trust him to know what he’s doing.” He peered at Arel. “Why can’t you?”

“The Temur Winter has never shown mercy to anyone.” Arel snarled. “Chianul is going on a suicide mission out of his sense of duty, and he knows it.”

“If there is any one man that can survive winter in the wilderness,” Surrak countered, “that man is Chianul.”

Arel’s brows furrowed. “But-”

“Your family was a different story, Arel. Your father was weak and-”

Arel’s blood boiled. “Seven years,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I have waited seven years for you to say something about my family, Dragonclaw. A minute of discussion. A word of condolences. Anything. Anything to show that you care about the members of your so-called family, the Temur. And the first thing you say in seven years is that my father was weak?” she asked, hatred oozing from her every word.

For the first time, Surrak betrayed a hint of emotion. Guilt, perhaps? Or simple confusion? “I-” he tried to say.

“My father may have been weak of body, Surrak,” she growled, “but he was a greater man in spirit than you will  _ ever _ be!”

Surrak suddenly stood, glaring down at her.

Silence fell over the room. The two stared at each other, motionless.

“I am willing to forget you spoke to your khan this way, shaman,” Surrak finally spat.

“Suit yourself,” Arel snapped. “I will **never** forget your actions, or lack thereof, First _Father_.”

Surrak lifted his chin. “You are ill. We will talk again once you’re better. I’ve assigned Tseten to look over you.”

Arel snorted as Surrak made his way to the door.

Before exiting, he turned back to look at her. “And if you think you can leave and chase after Chianul, you are grossly mistaken. You’re being watched. Besides, you’re not going anywhere in your present state.”

“I noticed,” she sighed, struggling to face him.

Then he was gone, and Arel was left alone with her thoughts.

///

The Wide Whisper tugged at her mind. Arel threw her food on the floor and, with a grunt, sat against the wall, then delved into the link.

_ “My brothers and sisters,” Chianul’s voice began. _

_ “Chianul!” Arel shouted, aghast. “You’re alive!” _

_ There was a short chuckle. “I am, I am. Sorry, Arel. I did what I had to.” _

_ Arel was too startled to reply, so Chianul continued. “We’ll talk later. The situation is urgent!” he said frantically. _

_ Many voices rose, some calm, many others much less so. Chianul silenced them. _

_ “I’ve arrived at the Spirit Dragon’s domain, but Vol has vanished!” he explained. “The weak moment is getting stronger by the second! We must immediately conduct a Whisper ritual to stop this. I will lead you. Ready?” _

_ “Ready, Twice-Whisperer!” came the reply. _

_ “R- ready,” Arel mumbled. _

_ “Very well. Now, gather your energy and-” _

_ The command was lost among a sudden cacophony of unfamiliar voices, some high, some low, some quiet, many yelling, all of them incomprehensible. _

_ “Wh- What is happening?” Arel overheard Sakta yell, her voice barely discernible in the chaos. _

_ As the voices overwhelmed her, Arel felt a weird sensation: it was as if she was floating upward, despite the lack of a physical body in the Wide Whisper. _

_ “What the- Chianul!” she yelled as the noise rose to deafening levels and she was propelled upward into infinity. _

_ Then everything vanished. _

///

Arel’s eyes flew open as she gasped for breath. The silent cavern she called home greeted her gaze and she let it wander, taking slow breaths.

She’d never quite gotten used to the size of it; in comparison, the cave her family had resided in in Karakyk Valley was like a rabbit’s home.

At least, that was the case her vision suggested; it had been many years since Arel had last seen that cave. It was unsettling to think that, in a different now, she still resided in it.

In a now where dragons didn’t exist. In a now where Chianul was alive.

As her breathing stabilized, Arel felt the ripple caused by the weak point vanish. 

It had been a powerful pulse, unlike any she’d sensed before. And yet, it was clear to her that it was only an echo of the original weak point. There was no risk of it upending the current now. There was no going back.

Arel slowly stood up and made her way towards the wall on her left. On it were makeshift wooden shelves with dozens of tiny objects upon them: horns, pieces of bark, claws… and all of them had intricate carvings on them. At the thought of painting on a wall instead of using scrimshaws, Arel’s lips curled into a timid smile. As she reached for an uncarved dragon tooth, her gaze lingered on the carving she’d made the day after she’d escaped the Atarka.

The day after her mother and Chianul had died.

A knot formed in her throat. Her mother had always been a brave warrior. Falling in a fight against dragons seemed like a fitting end for her. Especially since they were Atarka dragons. The day Atarka killed Aigrec, Tanaja had sworn never-ending hatred towards her.

Arel rustled through her pouch for her knife. Her mother hadn’t even known that, in another Tarkir, Sangye existed. She missed her little brother. In this now, she could not even commune with his spirit. He was truly gone, forever.

She sat back down, her legs crossed. As she began to carve the way Chianul had taught her, she thought of the old man’s sacrifice. He’d claimed to have seen great potential in her, and risked everything to teach her. When they were found out and had to escape with Tanaja’s help, he gave his life to save hers.

Arel’s vision went blurry as she recalled the night of their escape: the two of them running desperately through the forest as scores of trees burned all around. The Atarka dragons weren’t particularly bright or good at following tracks, but they had someone else do that for them. Surrak, the Hunt Caller. It was only due to Chianul’s magic and self-sacrifice that she’d escaped the inferno.

She finished carving Surrak Dragonclaw on the tooth and looked it over. In this now, he’d sworn loyalty to strength, abandoning those who needed it the most. She’d never believed he was the right man to lead the clan, anyways.

Arel reached for a small, smooth horn. Luckily, the current Twice Whisperer was Sakta. The young shaman, like many others, helped hunt down game for Atarka, but she used the Wide Whisper to communicate with the Dissenters, too--a handful of shamans who, like her, preferred to hide their existence from the Atarka completely. She  finished carving the Temur encampment at Karakyk Valley and sat motionless, thinking about her vision. As Chianul’s spirit had hinted when he told her to look for a weak point, it had been the longest and most detailed vision of the other Tarkir she’d ever had.

It wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

For years Arel had thought that, without the dragonlords, the five clans would eventually reach some sort of agreement, and an era of peace would be ushered in. Now she had proof that wasn’t the case. Incredibly, after a full thousand years since the death of all dragons, the clans continued their conflict. Who knew how many lives had been lost? And to achieve what?

She felt dizzy. In her now, things were even worse. The dragons’ oppressive rule exacerbated the misery of the humanoid species of all clans, and everyone was still at war. Sure, being a humanoid in the Dromoka was not as nightmarish as being in the Silumgar, but you still were always at risk of being eaten.

With a start, Arel realized that if she hadn’t slowed Chianul down in the other now, he might’ve reached Sarkhan in time. She clenched her teeth. This was all her fault.

She reached for another item to carve, but grasped only air. She’d ran out. She sighed. It had been a while since she last gathered some. She needed some fresh air, anyways.

Shrugging off the unpleasant thoughts, she stood back up and discreetly stumbled toward the exit. She paused to don her shamanic headpiece, then stepped out of the cave.

///

Arel walked uphill, the scarce amount of vegetation and animal life a constant reminder of Atarka’s presence. Her boots crunched the volcanic soil at every step, despite her shamanic agility.  She rapped her fingers against her wool pants, deep in thought as she walked. She'd hoped to receive guidance through her vision, to find a way for the clans to reach some sort of peace… but she'd only found more war.

Now she was left with a puzzle even more complex than before.

Deep in thought, Arel barely realized she'd arrived at the summit of the Qal Sisma mountain she resided in: a vast, flat stretch of black volcanic soil dotted with magmatic puddles and lakes.

She strode towards the biggest one, the rivulets of steam emerging from the lava creating intricate patterns in the air.

She knelt in front of the boiling lake and closed her eyes. She needed to think.

She steadied her breathing, focusing on the heat waves caressing her skin. Remembering Chianul’s advice on solving puzzles, she began to ask herself questions. First: what were her goals?

_ To end the conflict between clans and the draconic oppression of humanoids throughout Tarkir _ , she thought.

_ What would it take to achieve that? _

_ The clans would have to agree on a truce or a peace deal, or be forced to. The dragons would have to agree to end their own rule or be forced to,  _ she replied.

_ How does one make that happen?  _ came the crucial question.

Arel hesitated before answering.  _ To agree to a peace, the clans need to see the need for one. Either they find a common goal to work towards, or they deem the conflict unsustainable. _

The second option was far from likely, however: the clans had been at war for hundreds, possibly thousands of years, and unless even larger swaths of humanoids were wiped out, they wouldn't have to stop.

Arel quickly discarded the possibility of enacting human genocide.

_ As for the dragons,  _ she continued,  _ they all agree with the current treatment of humanoids, so they need to be forced. But given their merciless quelling of dissent, it would take a mass insurgency to- _

Arel blinked.

A mass insurgency throughout the clans.

A coordinated effort.

A  _ common goal. _

An impish grin made its way through her lips. Of course! The answer was in the question, as some Ojutai monk might've said.

Arel stood up, shaking with excitement. The solution appeared simpler by the second. How had she not thought of it immediately? Humans, aven, orcs, ainok, djinn, efreet, even naga, ogres and goblins all throughout tarkir shared one trait: they were at the whims of their dragon overlords.

The path forward was clear: find trustworthy allies throughout the five clans, prepare the population for the coup, overthrow the dragonlords and establish a new clan leadership based on cooperation between the clans.

Arel exhaled, realising she'd been holding her breath. It would not be easy to accomplish her goals; she'd have to be extremely careful at every step of the way, starting from her search for allies. But she owed her family an attempt, at the very least.

_ No,  _ she thought, lifting her chin. _ I won't fail. I can't fail. I  _ **_refuse_ ** _ to fail. _

Arel realized her current now gave her a small advantage she hadn't thought of: not only were the dragons the solution to the problem, but she was now unfettered from any loyalty to her old clan. She wasn't a tool anymore, she was  _ free _ . 

_ And I will put my freedom to good use,  _ she thought, jubilant.

A powerful roar interrupted her train of thought. Arel looked to her right to see a dragon in the distance, its massive, scaly wings carrying it straight towards her. It had a green, bulky frame, bright red antlers, and a muscular tail. One of Atarka’s brood, undeniably.

She pivoted towards it and stood her ground. The dragon must've had poor luck locating a snack, or it wouldn't have gone for a small human. In typical Atarka fashion, it wanted to inspire terror through its bulk and strength. It expected her to panic and run away screaming.

What it didn't expect was for her to fight back.

As it approached, she placed her hands together and gathered her mana, causing the tendrils of smoke to swirl and dance all around her. Arel kept her eyes on the dragon. There it was, the enemy. The lord of all of Tarkir. Ojutai dogma stated that, the same way an ant is insignificant and harmless to a human, a human is insignificant and harmless to a dragon.

_ Let's see how harmless I really am,  _ Arel thought with a grin as the dragon roared again, shaking the earth.

As the mighty beast dove towards her, it opened its jaws and spewed a torrent of bright fire down at her. She dove to avoid it. The jet crashed against where she had been standing and charred the ground. The flames engulfed the area, scorching the ends of her coat.

The dragon circled around and unleashed another blazing stream, but Arel yelled back in defiance, her voice rising above the noise, and cast her hands upwards, releasing her spell.

The lava around her exploded into the sky, coalescing into an enormous red claw that hurled itself at the dragon.

Her spell collided with the blazing stream and pierced through it, scattering rivulets of fire all around, then reached its target.

The dragon bellowed as the lava smashed into it, the molten claw digging into its soft underbelly with ease.

Arel willed it forward, and the blazing torrent enveloped the dragon, covering its lower body, tail, and neck, and reaching for its head and back.

The monster let out a gurgling shriek as it plummeted from the sky, its insides consumed by the merciless lava. It smashed into the ground mere feet away from her, shaking the earth. Arel gazed into its dark, beady eyes, wondering if it realized what had happened. The dragon stared back, a whirlwind of unspoken thoughts hidden behind its icy glare.

It convulsed once, then its gaze went blank. Arel stood, panting. She’d done it. She’d killed a dragon, all on her own. There was hope after all.

She cautiously approached the monstrous body. She did leave her cave to gather animal parts for scrimshaws, after all.   _ Might as well be dragon parts,  _ she mused as she got to work.

Several minutes later, Arel walked back towards her cave, her pouch full to the brim with dragon scales, claws, and teeth. The dragon’s body had been severely damaged by the lava, but there was enough of it untouched that she wouldn’t need to gather animal parts any time soon.

Walking down the Qal Sisma mountain, she hummed a tune her mother used to sing for her bedtime, her left hand carving the dragon’s horn she held in her right.

As she reached the opening she’d learned to call home, she looked over the finished scrimshaw. The symbols of the five clans were arranged in a circle, with the shamanic rune for “Unity” in the middle. Over to the side, the rune for “Dragon” stood alone, a single gash cutting through it. Arel looked up at the clear sky and breathed in. No longer would she let the monsters’ rule go unchallenged. They’d had over a thousand years of that.

Now it was time to fight back. It was time for a new chapter in Tarkir’s history.

 


End file.
